


Two can keep a secret, if one of them is offline.

by HannahRose063



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Mnemosurgery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 10:57:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6981502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HannahRose063/pseuds/HannahRose063
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shockwave makes a critical error in his calculations when he attacks someone he should not have.</p>
<p>Inspiration taken from a series of roleplays between a Trepan and a Shockwave on tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two can keep a secret, if one of them is offline.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shockwavelongarmprime](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Shockwavelongarmprime).



A relieved sigh left tired vents as Trepan stepped into the shared habsuite, access card placed beside the door on the little table as ‘Longarm Prime’ was forever one for neatness and order which probably came from his ‘alter ego’ of the Cybertronian Jeckel and Hyde. Not really a good comparison, but that did not stop Trepan humming the off world song about it around Shockwave to get the little earworm stuck in his processor. Still, beaming at the weight in his servo of his purchases and Trepan was striding for the kitchen to unpack. Another day exploring the little shops and streets surrounding The Metroplex and he’d found a little specialty store featuring Rust Sticks in flavours he had never had before; Nickel, Uranium and Cobalt!

Still, the moment the door of the habsuite hissed open to greet him with a seemingly agitated or even enraged Longarm, Trepan barely had a warning of something was wrong as the little minibot all but snarled “You Knew!” as his form exploded from his subspace into a partial transformation of Shockwave, a dexterous arm shooting forth to grab Trepan by a leg and whip him out of the kitchen into the main room with a sharp crunch of mech on wall as Trepan hit it back first and vents stalling with a scrape of fans.

Optics giving a whirr as his HUD gave a swift reboot to process the sudden impact with the wall and multitude of alarms indicating damage Trepan could mute, and he was batting at the two arms reaching for him as one encased him firmly from shoulder pauldron to hip plates like an tread patterned constrictor, lifting him off the ground with ease till Trepan was upright and dangling in his grip with a faint drip of Energon from the crack primary helm light above his left optic, his usually enhanced vision flickering in and out of a solid picture with a grunt of recalibrations failing as another error of his HUD to mute. He wasn’t sure how long that reboot had taken, but they had gone from the nice brightly lit expanse of the habsuite to the lower levels of the building where ‘Level Five Clearance Only’ had become Trepan’s classroom of a basement, the little Autobot Axel still in forced recharge upon the singular berth.

“You knew,” Comes that seething flanging of a vox as Trepan is brought right up to the glow of the crimson optic. “You knew? You KNEW those responsible for what happened to me... For _This_ monstrosity they made me into, from the nanoclick we met and you stayed _SILENT_?!" Gone is the usual broadened slit across the optic as Shockwave glared down at himself, the iris flared in rage to a great furrow across the red optic like a scar as it locked onto Trepan’s minimal movements, observing his teacher as that arm pinning his arms to his side began to _squeeze_ softly till plating creaked and HUD blared, drawing a smile if Shockwave possessed the lip plates to do so.

“Indeed, I did. But I am curious how it is _you_ knew” Trepan couldn’t help but hum, his ever cheerful tone hiding the pain and _fear_ as plating flared to both try to cool and protect his inner components from the slow crush of Longarm’s abilities.

“When you gave me an optical cable to allow me to see what you could while you performed mnemosurgery on Axel yesterday afternoon. You were there.  Perhaps not here on my Cybertron, but you watched one of your esteemed colleague take my frame and _mutilate_ it with your practice of Empurata. You took my helm, my optics, and my servos. You took everything that made me _me_ and shaped me into a _monster_ even among my own Decepticons! So, now, Trepan?” comes the low growl as the coiled arm and servo shifted around Trepan’s frame till digits could grab his helm and yank it to the side and back slightly to bare the little optimal cabling protected by the collar plating and neck column, a cable unspooling from beneath Shockwave’s chin while he positioned Trepan’s helm to collect and bring closer to the cable hidden ports. “I plan to see what else you know; I am afraid it will not be as neat as your needles but as you say my frame is incompatible. When I offline you and scrap you down, I will be sure to take them from your frame as my just rewards for all your teachings. That is what a graduate gets, no? Their own needles? Well, Doctor, you will not be needing yours when I finish.” Comes the low growl as the cable and port connect and Trepan physically jerks at the sudden _suffocation_ within his own helm as he feels like he is submerged in ice, helm shaking back and forth trying to dislodge the cable or Shockwave’s hold on his memories as he feels them sifted through, such harsh clumsy digits tattering the pages of his mind as the mech flicks through the memory bank of everything Trepan has lived for, _stood_ for.

“What is your delightful little quote you told Axel, Trepan? ‘ _I could have done this while you were offline, but a conscious mind is more receptive to alterations’,_ wasn’t it?”

“- _after the volt gun you put up quite the struggle. I know, I know, this is your first time”_

_  
_ A sharp whine of static across his optics as his visions are poured over and the Trepan of his consciousness was stumbling forth to the floor as the ex-senator’s hold released as Shockwave brought up a memory, of Messatine ironically. Seems he wanted to see what Trepan’s Megatron was like. Leaving Trepan to pause, flicking his optics up to the invading consciousness striding around the operating table to observe Trepan and what a miner at Nova Point was once.

Shockwave wanted to see the Megatron of Trepan’s time? _Fine_. He thinks as he pushed himself to his pedes and glared at the spinal struts of the Decepticon. After all, Shockwave was in _his_ helm now, and the worst place to be was inside the helm of a wronged mnemosurgeon.  
The vision of Megatron’s alteration burst into static as the needles made contact with the processor, the world bursting into light for a split second until Megatron’s fusion cannon was swinging down to line Shockwave up under its barrel as the double agent _was_ standing between where Trepan of the then and Trepan of _now_ was. Where he could _feel_ the heat of the cannon maw hovering over his chassis, could _hear_ the whine as it powered up, could see the particles swirling around its maw as it drew matter in. Poor thing’s antlers shot backwards with a servo shooting up with the makings of a yelped ‘wait’ as the air lit up in a thunderclap as the tyrant let loose the blast.

Oh, how much Trepan had screamed as the blast hit him square in the chassis, the ironglass window of his sparkchamber directing the energy off to its circumference to the sides where paint bubbled and fizzed, and civilian grade plating melted inwards into the equally melting components.  Burned alive from the shot to the point, and burnt further as T-cog and pistons and cabling all but liquefied in on itself as your own weak chassis smelted itself long after your vox burnt itself out screaming and systems crashing over and over and over only to wake up to that same agony. And for Shockwave who was by his own misfortune connected to Trepan’s processor, he could share all this agony over and over and over as Trepan locked him down into a constant looping stream of their now shared memory and his sucked a sharp vent inwards as suddenly the arm having squeezed its own imprint of tread into his arms and the edges of his chassis slackened at his pedes like a deceased snake hanging from the shoulder socket of the knee crumpled and shaking Decepticon, the big optic filled with the faintest pinprick of carmine in that big void of red.

Looming over the befallen Decepticon, and Trepan was enjoying the poor Mech’s internal monologue trying to tell himself this was not real despite the secondhand agony no doubt plaguing his HUD, for this was no longer the Megatron Trepan knew blasting Shockwave’s chassis open, but the very black and grey mech that Shockwave followed blindly. How to add doubt to ones loyalty? Make the mech they trust with their spark all have that mech rip it out of their chassis.

He can see it now; Shockwave trying to fight it as the limp arm starts to coil around his prey, as in his terror and agony, Shockwave has already begun to ensnare himself in his own two arms and Trepan can see the treads shiver as they start to _squeeze_ , Trepan letting his apprentice dig a hole deeper than he can escape from a little more before lets himself fall back through the cable joining them to join Shockwave in his _own_ helm now.

“Wh…at did you do?” Comes the weak little tremor of a voice from the Shockwave the moment he lands, optic off and clawed servos having carved furrows in his helm in a futile attempt to block out what was happening to him, his physical self squeezing himself tighter thinking if he can squeeze hard enough that whatever Trepan is doing to counter the pain back to him is broken, he can offline him as this was no longer something he was enjoying. Something he was no longer in control of.

“Oh? Did you read all those textbooks for nothing? Was all that rapid fire learning you so blatantly flaunted in my face nothing but a show to impress me? A neural pathway connects our processors, Shockwave, like a door it can be opened both ways and your inexperience has left the door open to your processor since the moment you plugged into mine. You wanted to see Megatron, did you not? You wanted to know why I was so invested in your history of your Cybertron, of the Decepticons, of myself, did you not? All I had to do, was step inside your door.” He smiled, aware of a slight creaking of steel and hiss of sparks as no doubt Shockwave’s autobot ability had began squeezing itself thinking that he still had Trepan in his grasp. Onlining his remaining secondary optic above his helm, and Trepan was unable to help the amused bubble of laughter at Shockwave wrapped from hip to chin and little showers of sparks bursting out from between the coils. A cruel irony.

“But, since we are both playing Memory Lane, let us take a trip down yours” Comes the singsong voice as the world around them burst into static long enough to appear in lab, a strange mech restrained down to the berth screaming something about ‘I am the senator’ and how they did not have ‘clearance’ for this kind of operation. From the diagrams littered about, the claw tipped servos and a very familiar mono-optic’d helm sitting beside them, it seems we had found where Shockwave’s path to a decepticon began. “Well well, look at you, two big blue optics” Trepan hummed as he traced his digits over the memory of pre!Shockwave, watching in jump and flicker under his touch. “You looked so _innocent_. Let’s watch this scene a little more, shall we?”

‘ _Do you have any idea who I am? I am the Senator! You do not have clearance for an operation like this!” Oh, the panic in those words sent a shiver down Trepan’s spinal struts. How he loved to see mecha who lorded their status over others shaking and leaking at the prospect of their fate.  
“Actually, they do, Shockwave. For they have mine”_ _Came an almost shrill chirp from the other side of the room, the vision jumping as Shockwave raised his helm to see the speaker._  
“Senator Ratbat? Why are you doing this!?”  
“We deserve this, Shockwave, for putting up with you. Your heritage. Your bragging. Your rise to your position. Some of us worked half our cycles to get where we are, and you? You stroll in with some little recommendation from a Magnus and rise ranks.”

“My my, your Ratbat looks so much more different to ours and it was actually Zeta Prime who issued your appointment. What a lovely contrast. Both betrayed by the mechs that they thought had their back” Trepan smiled, patting the shaking helm of the real Shockwave.

_“Ratbat! Tell them to stop! Please! I will denounce the Decepticons! I will withdraw from the Senate! I will go off world, L-Luna one! Anything! Just… Please, do not do this”_

_  
_ Trepan clapped a hand over where he believed Shockwave’s intake was to shut him up as he listened, antenna angled forth and grinning as Ratbat’s final comment was

“ _Continue. Make him an idiot, or a drone, I don’t give a frag. But I want him deposited as deep in the Slum’s as you can. Throw him across enemy lines as a gift if you want. Just finish the job”_ before slipping from the room.

  
He was not sure how many times he replayed that scene, twice? Thrice? But long enough that everything seemed to pitch as the consciousness of Shockwave hit the ground, his physical self having done the same thing thus ripping the neuro cord from Trepan’s port and all but dragging Trepan out of his own helm with accidental luck to throw him on his aft before his gyroscope could keep up.

“Oh, Shockwave” Comes an _almost_ remorseful tut from the mnemosurgeon as he looked down upon his apprentice;  
Whatever squeezing had been done, it had crushed something vital from the way his frame was behaving. One moment? Shockwave. The next? Longarm. A nanoclick later? A combination of the two as Shockwave’s own transformations began to tear his own frame apart. It was almost akin to a spark rejecting his frame from the low moan escaping whatever state the vox was in. And from the constant flickering of optics locked onto him, the poor thing actually expected Trepan to help him.  
Crouching low till his helm hovered over the double agents’, and Trepan was giving what passed as a cheek a little brush of mock care. “And this concludes our final lesson, Shockwave; ** _Never underestimate your patient._** ”  
Straightening his neck to look around him, and he was thinking. He could leave Shockwave down here, no one had access cards for here aside the one no doubt somewhere on Shockwave for he to have brought Trepan down here, but there was no fun in that.  
“Would you like me to help you, Shockwave?” Trepan cooed the moment his optics spotted the garbage compactor controls, the soft chill of _cruel irony_ running down his spinal struts. “I can make this all go away” He hummed, servos sliding under arm pits to lift and drag the malfunctioning frame over towards the machines deposit hatch with a little grunt only made easier with each transformation back to Longarm, ignoring the weak attempts of a servo trying to push him away as Shockwave no doubt saw his fate.  
‘Trepan, Trepan please. Don’t!” Comes the final reappearance of a vox but a second too late as he is unable to stop what is to be his end as the hatch lip scrapes his spinal plating as his head and shoulders are heaved up onto ramp before a downward pitch ends up with him crumpled and glitching in the base of the compactor, alone with not even an empty energon cube for company as the machine whirrs to life.

Dear Primus, Trepan was either insane or just loving this enough to have donned a supplied safety helmet with a ‘Safety First’ as he wandered as close as he dared with the little remote to start the machine slowly closing in with a scrape of walls.

  
" _I can't decide, Whether you should live or die._

_Oh, you'll probably go to heaven, Please don't hang your head and cry._

_No wonder why, My heart feels dead inside._

_It's cold and hard and petrified, Lock the doors and close the blinds, We're going for a ride_ ”

  
Trepan’s morbid little song echoed forth from his vox as a thumb pressed down on the ‘CRUSH’ and with a shower of sparks, a screech of crushed plating, and a scream of a mech being crushed into barely a two meter by two meter cube of tread, and alloy, and servos, and optic, Shockwave’s remains were slid down the ‘Dispatch’ ramp. And look at that, his access card was poking out a corner.  
“How Useful” Trepan smiled as he collected Cube Prime from his little spot to toss lightly between his servos as he waited for the elevator back to the habsuite, not before having tapped the cube to the scanner of course.

It would have been a lovely sight for Blurr to come home to; the habsuite empty and silent, with nothing but a big cube of metal on the table and a little card slipped in where the access card had been. No explanation, no addressee, just a name;

**‘-Trepan’**

 


End file.
